


Masked Acrobatics

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5584927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Long ago, I used to wear a mask and play at being an acrobat." -Huey, 1935-B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masked Acrobatics

**Author's Note:**

> featuring even more tsundere Huey. Um, 1705ish or early 1706, I'd say.

By the time Huey turns, Monica is halfway to the ground. She moves with the fluid grace of a cat, bouncing between windowsill and gutter weightlessly as though touching them is the object of some kind of game, not as though they’re the only things keeping her from falling. She isn’t winded when she reaches the ground, but Huey is stuck staring for a moment.

_Impressive_ , he catches himself thinking, raising an eyebrow behind his mask; then he corrects himself: _No—useful_.

Monica twists in one direction, then another, looking for him; then she turns her face upwards towards the roof. The white mask she’s wearing catches the moonlight, and Huey can’t tell what she’s thinking behind it. But he can’t help but wonder if she’s judging him as he stands frozen at the top of the building she just scaled in reverse with the ease of a dancer. Coughing behind his mask, he hoists himself over the edge of the roof and makes his way down with considerably less confidence. Elmer follows after him and just barely manages to stick the landing; he emits an “Oof!” as he hits the ground, too distinct to be unintentional but not loud enough to catch the attention of anyone indoors.

“Sorry,” Monica apologizes, ducking her head. “I didn’t mean to get ahead of you two.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Huey answers dispassionately. Internally, he’s reassessing her. Again. He wonders if he’ll ever have an accurate picture of this girl in his head or if she’ll keep surprising him like this.

Wondering would have to come later, though, because Elmer is all enthusiasm. “That was so _cool_!” he exclaims in a whisper, his eyes shining so obviously that his mask is practically emitting beams from the eye holes. “How did you _do_ that?”

Monica tilts her head, puzzled. “It was the fastest way to get down?” she says.

“Yeah, but the way you moved… Right, Huey? Wasn’t it cool?”

Suddenly drawn into the conversation, Huey almost blurts out his original opinion in agreement. But the way Monica freezes at the prospect of receiving a compliment from him gives him a chance to organize his thoughts a little better.

“That seems like it could be helpful,” is what he says. “Can you teach me?”

Monica’s eyes go wide behind her mask, and she doesn’t speak for almost a minute. Finally, Elmer throws her a bone by elbowing her in the ribs.

“Say ‘yes,’” he suggests, snickering.

Startled back into herself, Monica gives a nod that’s hurried almost to the point of desperation and squeaks, “S-s-sure, Huey!”

*

He’s not very good at it, to start. After a few weeks, he understands the way to make his movements as light as hers, but the real trick is _seeing_ how to get from point A to point B, and Monica has a hard time putting that mental process into words and so Huey can’t grasp it. All Monica can do is bring him to the foot of a building and point to the top, clutching the skirt of her robe and looking from him to the roof as she waits for him to make a guess.

It’s on one such night—when Elmer is elsewhere, presumably harassing someone who dared to feel something other than unbridled joy in his line of sight—that Huey’s frustration bubbles to the surface.

“This isn’t working,” he says. “Could you just show me? How would you climb up there?”

She winces. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright. You’re doing your best. Just show me, and I’ll imitate you.”

But she hesitates still, and finally she shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s going to be helpful,” she says. “I-I mean, even if I show you how to get up there, it won’t help you with other places.”

She has a point. Huey crosses his arms rather than admit it. “I just need some examples to get started,” he reasons. “I’m trying to get my head around it.”

Monica falls silent there. She looks down the alleyway, up at the roof, beyond that to the night sky–for once, anywhere but at him. Huey sighs.

“What is it?” he prompts. “You seem like you have something you want to say.”

Her eyes come back to her then, but she still doesn’t speak.

Huey looks back at her seriously. “Monica, this is a real skill you have, and it’s something I lack. I want to learn it from you. So whatever you want to say that can help me, I’m listening. I’m asking for your help.”

Then she squeaks, and buries her face in her hands as if her mask weren’t already hiding the blush presumably spreading across her cheeks. Huey waits for her to catch her breath.

“I-I think…” she starts, and then trails off.

“Hm?” Huey prompts her to continue.

“I th-think you’re thinking too hard,” she says, her voice trembling a little. “I think m-maybe you want to start by drawing a path in your mind and then following that path, b-b-but that’s—that isn’t how it works, it’s really just between your eyes and your body and—and the moment, I guess. You have to feel what your body’s capable of, rather than trying to think it through. A-after all, if you plan a path and it doesn’t work out, then you’re stuck, and…”

Again she trails off, trying to search Huey’s eyes to see if she’s making any sense. In return, he furrows his brow, trying to internalize what she’s saying. It’s an entirely foreign concept to him, frankly; as far as he’s concerned, his body is just the vessel that allows his mind to take action against the world. It’s hardly worth listening to in the way Monica’s describing.

But her skill is undeniable, and he does think it’s valuable. If he wants this ability at his disposal, maybe he has to think the way she does.

“I’ll give it a try,” he says.

And he does, reaching out his arms and lifting himself up by windowsill, gutter, awning—and before he has his next coherent thought, he’s found his way to the roof. Monica follows seconds later, and by the way she clutches her fists in front of her mouth, he can see that she’s excited.

“Th-that… that was really good, Huey,” she says, her voice trembling as if she’s about to cry. “It was r-really… pretty…”

Huey shuts his mouth and turns his gaze away sharply, not used to being described as “pretty.” At least not to his face. Monica looks down, clutching her skirt anxiously, and an awkward silence passes.

“Should I try going back down?” Huey asks at last.

“Oh! S-sure,” Monica answers.

And it’s making more sense, now; he starts to understand that he has a better sense of his own reach and grip when he’s on the wall than when he’s just observing the field. When he reaches the ground, he doesn’t remember exactly how he got there, but he knows that it felt natural.

“I r-really think you’re getting it, Huey,” Monica says when she joins him.

Huey looks away again, but he does nod. “Thanks,” he mutters. “What you said helped.”

She doesn’t answer then—but Huey can practically feel the glow of her happiness.


End file.
